


All The Luck in The World

by boggs90



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boggs90/pseuds/boggs90
Summary: Bofur missed out the first time around. He’s obligated to do better on the next go.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Bofur
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	All The Luck in The World

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Incogneet0/theresonlyzuul for being an excellent sounding board! I really love this trope. Like... a LOT.

The letters lay on his chest where he reclined, propped up in bed, aging papers well-read. Bofur needed them close. His eyesight wasn’t keen as it used to be. Even with the lenses his eldest niece Lofar crafted, reading the precise print on Bilbo’s letters took time. 

The final letter differed from the rest. The writing, when he’d opened it, lacked the fluid and practiced beauty of Bilbo’s penmanship. The letters were scratched on with an unfamiliar hand and poor quality ink, though the letterhead was the same. It read:

_Dear Mr. Bofur,_

_Begging you pardon for the day, but I came across an unopened letter of yours in Master Bilbo’s belongings. I thought no one might have written you as the Baggins aren’t as plentiful as they once were. On his birthday last year, Bilbo joined the elves and sailed for the Undying Lands. He took his Frodo with him. Life took its toll, you see, and Master Bilbo’s mind wasn’t what it used to be. But he kept all your letters quite nice in a box by his bed so I thought you must be someone important to him and ought to have been told. I do hate to pass on bad news, but in my experience, no news can be worse than bad news._

_Hoping you’re well,_

_Samwise Gamgee_

He’d read it several times, but the words never changed. Bilbo, _his_ Bilbo was gone. Bofur was left behind. That, he understood and was at peace with. Bilbo was always meant for greater things, destined for some higher purpose that Bofur couldn’t understand if he tried. Their letters, and the few visits he’d managed over the years, were enough. They had to be enough. 

And yet.

Bofur shuffled all the letters together and placed them at his bedside table. He wanted them close. His family understood. Despite their distance, despite Bilbo’s distractions in his later years, Bilbo had been and would always be Bofur’s One, the one his soul sang for. He missed him every day. He’d miss him even in the Halls. No matter what worlds or realms or Valar lay between them, Bofur would forever have his One’s face in his mind and his name carved on his heart.

Bofur dozed then, slipping in and out of consciousness. He woke with Volva, his littlest niece, sitting beside his bed, his old gnarled hand gasped firmly in her own, young and calloused and warm. He’d given it a squeeze before going under, waking again to all of his girls: Lofar who looked so like her father, little Volva as fierce as her mother, and the middle girl Embra who Bofur had seen so much of himself in. He loved them so fiercely and yet not even that love could stir him. The doctor was there, a serious faced dwarrowdam with a beard as dark as night and braids as practical as a miner’s. 

“He hasn’t been eating.”

“He’s just sleeping—“

“It’s just like how Ma went—“

“Quiet,” the doctor snapped. She looked carefully over Bofur, who stared back, held conscious by the guilt kindled by his girls’ worries. Then the doctor looked to the bedside table. Bofur said nothing as she looked over the letters. “So it’s like that?” 

Bofur didn’t answer. He’d been awake long enough, some soft voice inside urging him under again. He liked to think it was Bilbo calling him, and that was a thought he could not resist.

_Sleep_ , it crooned, smooth and loving. 

And Bofur, dwarf of the Blue Mountains, 213 years old, closed his eyes for the last time.

*

_Open your eyes, Liwuz._

His name, his true name, something he’d never heard spoken aloud. He often tried not to even think it. But the voice, whoever it was, compelled Bofur. He _had_ to obey.

Opening his eyes didn’t do him much good. First, darkness. Then light began breaking through.

“I’ve gone blind then?” He laughed, startled by how alive he sounded, the gasp of a voice he’d had all but gone. “You didn’t need to wake me for that.”

The light spread, winding through the dark around him like vines. A woman’s voice called to him as though from within his own mind. _Your Father did not make you to accept defeat with such ease, Liwuz. You did not play your part._

Scolded by his own imagination? Well, fancy that. Bofur tried to move but he couldn’t, though he wasn’t held in place. He felt fluid, incorporeal, as physical as his thoughts and nothing more.

Father? He tried to think of his father. He remembered very little of the man. Suddenly he remembered little of anything - except the most important thing. Bilbo’s face came to mind with the greatest of ease, sliding through the mud of his thoughts.

_You did not even try_. Her voice, sad and lovely, returned him to the present. _So much was lost._

A shamefully long time passed before Bofur caught on. “I’m dead.” He laughed again, a choked sound tinged with disbelief. To die so quietly, gone in his sleep? He was every bit the name Aulë gave him.

Something touched his face: warm and soft like a mother’s touch. _You misunderstand Him _, she said. _You are one of His children. He cannot help but love you.___

__“And who are you?”_ _

___Stubborn_ , she said, brushing his question aside. _You could have made a difference. You were **made** to make a difference. Your Creator believed with the right amount of pressure..._ Her presence faded from Bofur’s awareness, leaving him in the dark. He reached out for her, searching for that warmth, but she remained out of reach._ _

__“I’m just what I am! I don’t know what you’re on about!” He wanted to pound his fists against the wall, wanted to shout, to _fight_ , but nothing he did could disrupt the calm surrounding him._ _

___There is no purposeless creature_ , her voice returned at last—but louder, powerful. It flooded the vast space surrounding Bofur. _Certainly not one of Aulë’s! Again, Liwuz, again to life! I will see you fulfill your purpose. Lean on my Child and fear nothing, Liwuz. The Valar are with you!_ So loud were her words they vibrated through Bofur’s existence, his soul, whatever vague form he resided in beyond life. It shook him to his core. He felt it—felt it for _real_ , in the clench of his fists and the cool wind across his face, which was pressed into the filthy side of an unwashed pony._ _

__Bofur jerked upright, shoving his hat up and out of his eyes. The pony rode on, one small part of a large caravan. Bombur and Bifur rode ahead of him, young and whole and alive. It was a merchant caravan, he realized. If he looked behind him he’d no doubt see the trail winding up into the Blue Mountains, toward Belegost. Towards home._ _

__The caravan headed southeast, toward greener lands. In a few days, Rangers would join them on their way to Bree. A few days more and they’d meet with the Wizard._ _

__Bofur pulled himself onto the saddle and stared dumbly down the road ahead. “I’ve been here before.”_ _

__“Aye, and next you’ll be reading portents off your pony’s arse.” Nori pulled his pony up tight to Bofur’s. “I knew you were drunk, but I figured you’d be clear of it by now.”_ _

__“And thank you very much for that!” Bombur called back to them. “My sweet Bestla wouldn’t even kiss me goodbye for letting that fool sign us on to this!”_ _

__“You should be honored!” Dori snapped back._ _

__“Oh sure,” Nori said. “It’s always a great honor to be selected for a quest with no volunteers. Really boosts the ego.” He nudged Bofur, dropping his voice. “Next he’ll go on about the esteemed Durin line—“_ _

__“Our King chose us! This is a great honor! No, the _highest_ honor—“_ _

__“The gold doesn’t hurt either,” Nori cut in._ _

__“You complete—“_ _

__“Ah,” Bofur murmured. “A dream. A terrible, terrible dream.” He hadn’t thought of the beginnings of the Quest in decades, of those early days before they’d lived together and fought together, becoming the Company and family all at once. The change happened so suddenly and dramatically he’d forgotten how at odds they’d been at first, especially his family and the brothers Ri. Dirt poor and desperate, that’s what they’d been. And soaked in ale as he’d been, when Nori came knocking about the tavern for recruits, promising all that gold—well who was he to refuse?_ _

__The mountain shrank into the horizon behind them. Bofur’s mouth tasted dry, his head stuffed with cotton. Even in his dreams, he had a hangover. It seemed terribly unfair._ _

__“I’ve never known you to be so quiet.” Nori watched him carefully, his own face blank, a mask of disinterest. “Second thoughts?”_ _

__“I don’t know a thing about those,” Bofur said. “I signed it, didn’t I? Besides,” he grinned, “we both know I’m just here for the free ale!”_ _

__Bombur scoffed ahead of them but said nothing. Bifur didn’t seem interested in anything beyond the tree line growing ever closer before them. Yes, it was all so familiar. Perhaps it was exactly what had happened, though Bofur couldn’t say he’d ever had such a keen memory. If he were lucky, he’d sleep at least until they reached Bag End. Waking with Bilbo’s face as the last of his dreams—a better morning he couldn’t ask for._ _

__*_ _

__They set up camp at sundown, rushing to get a fire going before they lost the last of the day’s light. Bofur’s certainty fled with the last of the light. Hours had passed. Surely he’d be waking up soon—perhaps now? But there he remained, on the edge of the thrice-be-damned Wilds as the track down the mountain began to widen. Leaving Belegost was a one way affair with a single track wide enough to allow a caravan passage. It wound a spiral around the mountain before finally feeding into the wilderness below. They made it half way that first day and found refuge on a ledge at the end of the steepest part of the trail._ _

__Something was about to happen. Something _important_. But for the life of him, Bofur couldn’t remember! Not that it mattered, of course. None of what was happening was real—or rather it was no longer real. A faded memory, one he couldn’t be sure was even correct._ _

__Bifur sat down heavily beside him. The fire crackled and danced, skewers of meat set out to roast. Well-salted though it was, the meat wouldn’t hold forever. They’d eat it the first night or two then settle for cram until they reached their destinations._ _

__“ _Nori’s right. You’re quiet, Cousin. Speak your mind. I would hear your troubles if only to ease your thoughts._ ” He passed Bofur his pipe, and Bofur took a drag, grateful for the taste and the burn. _ _

__“Can’t say I even know myself,” Bofur said after a few moments. How he’d missed the easy companionship of his cousin! He blew a ring, one that paled in comparison to Bilbo’s, and laughed. “I had an odd dream. Or am having one. I’ll let you know when I know.”_ _

__Bifur took the pipe back and pulled in a long drag. He never rushed his words and certainly never wasted them. Of all people, Bifur knew that anything worth saying was worth saying well. “ _I look forward to hearing about it._ ”_ _

__When call came around to set up watches, Bofur considered volunteering. He might have done in life, but being stuck in a dream meant any perceived obligations were out the window. He had a half-formed idea about falling asleep in the dream to wake up in reality. It made as much sense as anything else._ _

__Bombur took the watch instead. He and a few of the merchants sat around the fire and smoked, laughing uproariously at something. Bofur laid down in his bedroll and tried to close his eyes and sleep._ _

__He was forgetting something._ _

__Rolling onto his side, Bofur tried to relax his body, to close his eyes and drift to sleep, but a niggling worry pulled at his consciousness. He was forgetting some _bloody important detail_ , and it wouldn’t leave him alone, like an itch in the dead center of his back. _ _

__Bifur let out a deep rumbling snore beside him, followed by a moment of silence, then another rumble. An owl screeched in the distance. The noises surrounding the camp intensified. Bofur pulled his hat further down and pressed the flaps down hard over his ears. Had it always been so loud? The years he’d spent in Belegost with his nieces softened him._ _

__No! Not that. “A dream,” he muttered to himself. A very vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless. He just needed to sleep. Sleep and wake up. He’d get out of bed, sit with his girls. He’d share the letters with them like he could tell they wanted but were afraid to ask._ _

__Keep his eyes closed, that’s what he needed to do. Keep them closed and drift._ _

__Sleep came slowly, in brief fits, broken by fragments of consciousness: the change of the watch, the horses stomping restlessly, the distant rumbling of the hills._ _

__Bofur woke just as silence fell over the camp. The rumbling grew louder still, dust cascading off the mountain side and killing the fire. Another beat of silence. Then, “Rockslide!” The word jarred loose a memory, one of Bofur on watch. He recalled the very moment his stone sense felt the rocks shift. As a miner, his advanced stone sense saved his life on more than one occasion. On that ledge, sitting watch, he’d allowed nearly ten minutes warning, sparing them all._ _

__Now there was no warning._ _

__He’d laid his bedroll against the wall of the mountain. He senses the wall shift seconds before it did, releasing down in a single slide, burying him. The pressure was immense, bearing down on him from all sides. Air disappeared in minutes, and the heat smothered him. It was real. It was _all_ real. _ _

__Bofur has several minutes to consider it before death came to him once again. He remembered the woman’s voice, that light winding its way through the dark. He had time for just one last thought: that he hoped she wouldn’t be too angry at him._ _

__Then, darkness._ _

__*_ _

__The woman met him on the other side._ _

__Where before his sight was limited, just flashes of light, now he could see. The woman - and he perceived her to be a woman, though looking at her he wouldn’t have been able to figure out if the creature before him had a hammer or a forge - had an immense presence, but that was hardly surprising considering she was immense shelf. Physically, that is. Just—_ _

__Bofur looked up at her. And up._ _

__The woman was beautiful in the way nature was, like a garden spread across a valley, like the Shire itself had one day stood up and decided to walk across the land on two legs. Bofur knew now who she was._ _

__He dropped into a bow. Then he aborted the motion and stood at something like attention. He’d been rude with her. He hoped she wouldn’t hold that against him. “The Green Lady,” he breathed, awed._ _

___It is rare to see such a gift so wasted_. _ _

__“Ah. You’re angry.”_ _

___I have been angry for years, Liwuz. This disappointment simply accents it._ _ _

__“I—well, I didn’t know!”_ _

___And now you do_ , she summarized. _Then I do not expect to see you here again, Liwuz. Consider what is at stake.__ _

__There was no roaring power, no divine awakening this time, just a cold feeling that splintered through Bofur like ice creeping across a pane of glass. When Bofur woke slung across the pony, pressed against its stinking side, he didn’t move save to raise his head enough to vomit, the full weight of his new reality striking him like an axe to the head._ _


End file.
